day!â He jogged to keep up with his wife.
When she was alone in the kitchen, Patrice took a deep breath and looked around the room. It was a beautiful space with beige Mexican tile, cherrywood cabinetry, granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. Although modern, it had a homey feel with touches of the Southwest in the form of clay pots and Native American art. Throughout her home, she had Native American and African inspired paintings, sculptures, clay pots and handmade blankets.
Her home was far from being a mansion, but it was lovingly cared for. She stopped herself. Why was she standing here obsessing about her home? She was not going to pull a Nina and lose her mind because T. K. McKenna was coming to dinner.
Besides, she had a meal to get on the table.
Â
T.K. chose two bottles of good white wine from his wine cellar and put them in the refrigerator to chill shortly after he got off the phone with Patrice. On his way upstairs, he wondered if he should take Patrice some flowers. But, no, she had said this wasnât a date. It would look as if he thought it was a date if he did that.
Sam met him at the door of the cellar and peered up at him as if to ask what was up.
âIâm going out, boy,â he told the dog. It sometimes embarrassed him that he talked to Sam like he was his friend instead of an animal. Sam seemed to enjoy it, so he continued to do so. âIâve been invited to dinner. Can you believe it? I canât remember the last time anyone invited me to dinner without wanting something.â
After he put the wine bottles in the refrigerator, he glanced up at the clock on the wall. If he left here in about two hours, he should have plenty of time to make it to Patriceâs by seven. There was time for a shower and a shave. He hadnât asked her if the dress was casual, but he assumed that it was. She wouldnât dress up for dinner with her family unless it was a special occasion, would she?
Two hours later, he left the house by the downstairs garage door. He was wearing jeans and a nice shirt with his favorite pair of Nike shoes. In the garage, he stood for a moment considering which car to drive. He definitely didnât want to pull up to Patriceâs house in an Italian sports car. Nor did he feel the SUV was appropriate. Hedidnât want her brother to think he was flaunting the fact that he could afford a sixty-thousand-dollar sports utility vehicle. That left the black muscle car. It was a restored 1968 Chevrolet Camaro SS. Heâd done the work himself, with the aid of a professional restorer. The good thing about his vocation was that whenever he wanted to learn to do something, he could afford the best instructors.
He looked at his work as an opportunity to learn. For example, heâd been taking martial arts lessons for the past decade because heâd needed to know a little about martial arts for a role in a film.
Heâd never been to college. He considered life to be his university, and he devoted himself to a discipline whenever he had an interest in it. Thatâs why he was a third-degree black belt in karate.
The Camaro purred to life, and he backed it out of the garage. Sunday evening in Malibu was ideal. The air was warm, and a breeze coming off the ocean brought the smell of night jasmine wafting in. At dusk, the sun was an orange ball disappearing into the Pacific.
He turned onto the highway and accelerated. The car handled like a dream. It was his favorite. He smiled. It had been Malcolmâs favorite, too. His smile vanished. Memories of his brother were happy and sad simultaneously. He should have had a long life. Instead, it had been cut short at thirty-three. He should have known true love. Instead, he had fallen in love with a woman whose intentions had been less than honorable. It angeredhim that Malcolm hadnât had a better time while heâd been here.
He checked himself. How did he know Malcolm wasnât
When she was alone in the kitchen, Patrice took a deep breath and looked around the room. It was a beautiful space with beige Mexican tile, cherrywood cabinetry, granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. Although modern, it had a homey feel with touches of the Southwest in the form of clay pots and Native American art. Throughout her home, she had Native American and African inspired paintings, sculptures, clay pots and handmade blankets.
Her home was far from being a mansion, but it was lovingly cared for. She stopped herself. Why was she standing here obsessing about her home? She was not going to pull a Nina and lose her mind because T. K. McKenna was coming to dinner.
Besides, she had a meal to get on the table.
Â
T.K. chose two bottles of good white wine from his wine cellar and put them in the refrigerator to chill shortly after he got off the phone with Patrice. On his way upstairs, he wondered if he should take Patrice some flowers. But, no, she had said this wasnât a date. It would look as if he thought it was a date if he did that.
Sam met him at the door of the cellar and peered up at him as if to ask what was up.
âIâm going out, boy,â he told the dog. It sometimes embarrassed him that he talked to Sam like he was his friend instead of an animal. Sam seemed to enjoy it, so he continued to do so. âIâve been invited to dinner. Can you believe it? I canât remember the last time anyone invited me to dinner without wanting something.â
After he put the wine bottles in the refrigerator, he glanced up at the clock on the wall. If he left here in about two hours, he should have plenty of time to make it to Patriceâs by seven. There was time for a shower and a shave. He hadnât asked her if the dress was casual, but he assumed that it was. She wouldnât dress up for dinner with her family unless it was a special occasion, would she?
Two hours later, he left the house by the downstairs garage door. He was wearing jeans and a nice shirt with his favorite pair of Nike shoes. In the garage, he stood for a moment considering which car to drive. He definitely didnât want to pull up to Patriceâs house in an Italian sports car. Nor did he feel the SUV was appropriate. Hedidnât want her brother to think he was flaunting the fact that he could afford a sixty-thousand-dollar sports utility vehicle. That left the black muscle car. It was a restored 1968 Chevrolet Camaro SS. Heâd done the work himself, with the aid of a professional restorer. The good thing about his vocation was that whenever he wanted to learn to do something, he could afford the best instructors.
He looked at his work as an opportunity to learn. For example, heâd been taking martial arts lessons for the past decade because heâd needed to know a little about martial arts for a role in a film.
Heâd never been to college. He considered life to be his university, and he devoted himself to a discipline whenever he had an interest in it. Thatâs why he was a third-degree black belt in karate.
The Camaro purred to life, and he backed it out of the garage. Sunday evening in Malibu was ideal. The air was warm, and a breeze coming off the ocean brought the smell of night jasmine wafting in. At dusk, the sun was an orange ball disappearing into the Pacific.
He turned onto the highway and accelerated. The car handled like a dream. It was his favorite. He smiled. It had been Malcolmâs favorite, too. His smile vanished. Memories of his brother were happy and sad simultaneously. He should have had a long life. Instead, it had been cut short at thirty-three. He should have known true love. Instead, he had fallen in love with a woman whose intentions had been less than honorable. It angeredhim that Malcolm hadnât had a better time while heâd been here.
He checked himself. How did he know Malcolm wasnât
Similar Books
![Tempted by Two Angels [Notorious Nephilim 3] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)](https://fs.dianahicksbooks.com/527843/thumbs/152x264/tempted-by-two-angels-notorious-nephilim-3-siren-publishing-menage-amour.png)
